Memoirs of a Lathyrus
by Stwolfgang 'Peas' Ambrose
Summary: When investigating the private study of father, son, uncle, brother and war hero, Pete Lathyrus; a series of tattered and battered journals are discovered. The trilogy of his life may have missed some very important parts of his life.
1. Discovery (Prologue)

**A/N: New story. A simple prologue, will get around to updating it eventually. This will attempt to rework and clean up every single shitty story I've done thus far.**

If you are reading these notes, then it is likely I have passed away or simply left the keys to my private study laying around. Either way, I have chosen to undertake the tasks of recording the story of my life, in the hopes of attaining immortality through literature. I know my time on this planet is drawing to a close; whether it ends in glory or but a whimper, I will never know for sure.

I have seen a lot of change in my long life. Fought in many wars; experienced death countless times. But in this turbulent world; I never lost my way. I stood tall in the face of adversity. Never yielded to oppressors or bent the knee to those who sought to conquer the innocent. I am a Lathyrus, through and through; and a Lathyrus will never give up his morales. We stick to our code as our code is our blood.

There are many a tale I could regale; far too many for this one book. So I will try to not bore you with day to day life and focus on what you really want to read; the battles, adventure, and romance. So we shall start near the beginning of my life; when I was the ripe old age of seventeen.


	2. Chapter 1 They shall not pass

Fire, mud, and steel. For months this is all I have known. The days grow longer as our fort is shelled; many a soldier lay injured or dead from the ruthless attacks. But we will stand resolute, our position must be held at all costs. On ne passe pas; they shall not pass!

Looking up from my journal, I noticed one of the frightened conscripts looking at me with his large eyes wide open in fear. The weed was probably only a year younger than me, his brodie helmet seemed a size a too large as it sat upon his head lopsided. His uniform was tattered and his gun covered in mud. His voice was quiet and frightened as he spoke.

"Uh… captain… will I ever get to see me mum again?" His accent was thick, probably from Yorkshire. Standing up I towered a good head and a half above the poor conscript. I walked over and put a pod on his shoulder, leaving the journal on the small desk which had become my own.

"I'll make sure you do lad." The conscript took a deep breath and looked up into my eyes, the fear in them seemed to abate.

"Alright captain… I trust you…" The conversation was cut short as artillery began to shell the fort. I looked up at the roof before looking back down at the conscript.

"Come with me. We have some undead to kill."

I led the way, running through the cramped concrete passages to the outer wall. I strapped on my own brodie helmet and slipped on my officer's overcoat just as we reached the steel stairway up into the firing floor. As I headed up the stairs, the sound of machineguns and rifles was near deafening as they merged into each other and the scream of shells exploding. I turned my attention to one of the open firing slits, a wounded Cactus leaning against the wall beside the slit being tended to by one of the Sunflowers. Looking out across the muddy quagmire that was the hillside beneath us, the undead slogged their way towards our shell battered fortress.

My eyes quickly darted between the wounded cactus and the frightened conscript as I put my pod on his shoulder once more.

"Lad, I need you to shoot some undead bastards through this firing slit. Do you think you can do this for me?" The Yorkshire weed nodded his head weakly.

"Y-Yes sir." I left the weed to it as I headed along the line, inspiring the troops with my presence. Despite our overwhelming firepower, the zombies kept coming. It would quickly become apparent why they were undeterred by the wall of lead pouring from the fortress into the undead ranks. The air around me started to ripple and electrify before the thick concrete walls were torn asunder as a beam of energy ripped apart the defences and the unfortunate weed that was caught by the blast; the force of the explosion knocking me back and onto my back. Looking up, I saw the true extent of the damage; a hole the size of a train had been blown clean through the wall, roof and dug a few hundred metres into the hill above us before stopping.

There was a lull in the fire as many of the plants stopped to gaze in awe, fright, or both at the gaping hole now in the fortress. Looking around at them I readjusted my helmet and stood back up. Gesturing at the hole I began to yell.

"Do not let this dissuade you! We are here for a reason! And that reason is to not let a single zombie pass us; no matter the cost! Keep up the fire lads! Otherwise they will make a salad out of us!" The deafening cacophony of fire resumed as the plants fought twice as hard to keep the zombie horde back. To my right a peashooter went gatling, while to my left a weed reloaded his BREN. I took a deep breath and clambered over the rubble left by the blast of energy; climbing to the top I stood tall above the rubble to defy the undead hordes approaching. Grabbing my webley revolver from my greatcoat I started to put rounds down range, shooting my own peas once the revolver was empty.

The air electrified as and sparked once more as it became charged; another blast of energy ripped up the hillside and through the thick concrete walls. Whatever fired caused the Earth to shake as I lost my footing on the rubble heap and nearly fell down into a mud filled crater. As I steadied myself the crack of a sniper's rifle pierced the air and skimmed the side of my head, leaving a laceration along my cheek. I was forced to leap down off the rubble and into cover as another bullet whizzed past my head as I ducked into cover. The battle seemed to intensify greatly as undead riflemen began to fire at the fortress; their shots proving to be mostly ineffective due to their lack of discipline and accuracy. Despite this, the sheer volume of fire began to find their marks as a few weeds fell dead before the slits they fired from; a hole carved clean through their heads and helmets. Getting up I swiftly ran towards a recently vacated machine gun; the operator lay dead on the floor. Pulling it up to my shoulder I began to send a torrent of lead down into the zombie horde that was very near to overrunning the fort. The bullets fired from the machinegun ripped apart flesh and bone as zombie after zombie was hit and fell before the onslaught.

I fired the machine gun until it jammed; though I seem to have not even caused a dent in their lines. The zombies kept marching, the losses they suffered not deterring the horde or even slowing it down. Looking around I noticed the rising number of dead and wounded plants, this was my fault that they were dying as I could do nothing but watch on in horror.

"Captain…" The familiar voice that called out was weak, nearly ghostly. My heart clenched tight as I turned to face the source. My fears were proven right as the poor conscripted weed from Yorkshire lay leaning against the wall, multiple bullet wounds riddled his chest. I knelt down beside him and placed a pod over one of the wounds.

"L-Lad… you'll be alright. I said I'd get you home-" He cut me off.

"Captain… it's alright… I… I feel…" His mouth stopped moving as he breathed his last breath. His now lifeless eyes staring into my own; the look of hope in them hadn't disappeared, even in death. I closed his eyes and wrapped my free pod around his dogtags; Talan Conway was engraved upon the bottle cap sized pieces of steel. Taking one I slipped it into my greatcoat and grabbed the poor boys rifle.

Life, death and killing. For months this is what I have known. The nights get darker as many brave lights are snuffed; many a soldier perishing at the hands of these ruthless attacks. But we will hold our ground, no matter the costs. On ne passe pas; they shall not pass!


End file.
